Mine
by Garbage and City Lights
Summary: WARNING--fluffy citrus fic ahead! Just where the heck WAS Micah when the Children were murdering Dr. Appleby? Well, here's my take on it. No criticisms, please -- fluff doesn't stand well against it.


_Take your head around the world  
See what you get  
From your mind_  
  
I heaved myself from the chair to peek past the curtain. Someone had knocked.  
(Ding-dong, anyone home?)  
Mom and Dad were gone. They didn't like me answering the door when they weren't home, but I never listened to their pointless rules anyway. Besides, there had been something about this knock. ...I don't know what. Slow, deliberate, careful. It wasn't often that something piqued my curiosity in Hemmingford, so this was welcomed with open arms.  
(No one there.)  
I craned my neck to see, but the figure on the porch was standing just out of sight.  
(Go on. Answer the door. They're not here to tell you not to.)  
Running a hand through my unruly red curls, I took the knob in my hand and twisted.  
"Hello?" I said cheerfully, and abruptly stopped.  
(oh god)  
It was a sudden thought, abstract and unexplained. It was only Micah, after all.  
(Freak. Acting like a spaz just because someone knocks on the door.)  
He was just as pale as ever -- possibly even more so -- and in his constant black suit. I swear, that guy looked like a miniature Johnny Depp with his smoothed black hair and deep, dark eyes. Very intense. Very  
(scary)  
interesting.  
"Oh, Micah," I murmured, and offered a sideways grin. "What are you doing here?" He just smiled with the corner of his mouth -- like he always seemed to do.  
"Deborah," he said quietly, returning the exchange of names. "I came to see you." It was a simple comment, but something about it made me shiver. I rubbed my arms for warmth as if it were just the fall chill getting to me.  
"You wanna come in?" I jerked my head towards the living room. "It's kinda cool out here." Micah stared at me for one long, uncomfortable moment  
(dark eyes)  
before accepting the invitation and slipping through the door.  
"Yes," he agreed softly. "It is rather cool." I watched as he walked towards the couch, then shivered again and closed the door behind him.  
  
_Write your soul down word for word  
See who's your friend  
Who is kind_  
  
"So," I said awkwardly, taking a seat on the sofa. "You said you came to see me?" Micah didn't sit; he stood and stared down at me instead.  
(dark, _unnatural _eyes)  
"Yes." That was all he said. I was growing more uncomfortable by the minute. I had known Micah since he'd come to Hemmingford; we were the same age, me being just a month or two older. He had always been a little darkly quiet, but lately he had just gotten... _disturbing. _Ever since old Mrs. Burke had kicked the bucket. But still. He wasn't a bad guy, and he could be pretty cool. He was my friend.  
"Mm." I offered another meek smile and twisted a curl of red hair around my finger. "What, exactly, did you want to speak with me about?" Micah crossed his arms behind his back. It always astounded me how straight he stood.  
"We'll get to that." I frowned a little. This was getting weird.  
"Oh," I said, and forced a smile. "...good." Another long, awkward pause. Micah squinted at me then, quite openly.  
"Have you ever heard," he murmured, speaking very slowly, "about confession of sins?" I blinked.  
"Confession?" I repeated dully. He stared back at me without expression, his black eyes unreadable.  
(unnerving dark_ unnatural)_  
"The atonement of sins. Repenting for what wrongs you have done in order to cleanse your soul." Micah looked down for a split second. It was just uncertain enough to look human. Something inside me softened a little.  
"Then I suggest you speak to the Reverend," I said gently. He shook his dark-haired head slowly.  
"No." The answer was so blunt that I blinked in surprise.  
"What?" The pale boy stared at me, mouth set in a thin line.  
"The Reverend cannot help me. He has def--" Micah faltered, then coughed to cover his mistake. "He does not understand." Things were getting weirder by the moment.  
"What do you mean?" I asked uncomfortably.  
(A few more minutes of this, and Mr. Balding is going out on the front porch again.)  
He stared down at the ground for a long, awkward moment.  
"I cannot confess my sins to the Reverend," he said slowly, almost as if he were turning the words over in his mind before saying them, "because he will not see the truth behind them."  
(unnatural he is)  
I shook my head a little, pulling myself to my feet.  
"I don't understand." I paused, then glanced at the door. "Maybe you should go home. Sleep on it." When I looked back at him, I was immediately startled. Micah's dark  
(unnatural)  
eyes were filled with a horrible look -- a look of desperation, of longing. Like he wanted to say something, but the words were getting stuck in his throat.  
"Please," he said softly, and took my arm. "I need to confess." I blinked in surprise. His grip was firm, but not uncomfortable.  
"Micah," I murmured, then shook my head. There was no reason to be cold. "If you want to talk, we can talk." Micah's hold on my sleeve slackened. He stared at me with those black  
_(!unnatural!)  
_eyes, and finally the barest hint of a smile tugged at his mouth.  
"Let's go for a walk."  
  
_It's almost like a disease  
I know soon you will be  
Over the lies  
  
_ An annoying feeling kept poking at my mind as Micah and I walked slowly through the darkened town.  
(threat)  
Something felt wrong.  
(it's a threat)  
Micah was silent for a very long time. We had already gotten to the edge of Hemmingford before he finally spoke.  
"I have sinned," he said, taking infinite care with each word, "most greviously." My steps faltered; I straightened and regained my usual smooth flow.  
"We all do, Micah." I really didn't want to play preacher, but he was obviously feeling guilty about something.  
"But not as I have." He let out a little breath that sounded like a sigh of frustration and kicked at the ground. "We've reached the town limits. Let's turn around and head back the other way." I obeyed. We did a u-turn and began back towards Hemmingford, but our steps were considerably slower.  
"How have you sinned?" I asked, feeling a tinge of curiosity. I know, I was awful; hoping for some juicy gossip when he was trying to 'repent for his sins'. It was involuntary.  
"I have broken a commandment." Micah ran a hand through his black mane and sighed again. I kicked a rock and watched as it bumped along the ground.  
"Which commandment?" There was a long, awkward pause.  
"Thou shalt not," he said, then added very quietly, "kill."   
(oh god threat threat_ threat)  
_My steps faltered again, but I tried to act casual.  
"Micah," I murmured, looking up at his pale face. "What are you talking about?" I was surprised to hear concern creeping into my voice. Micah gazed at me with his dark eyes.  
"Figure it out," he said softly. I swallowed the lump from my throat and glanced away nervously.   
(you shouldn't be here you should be safely at _home)_  
Desperately searching for another topic of conversation, I glimpsed the rest of the Gatlin children disappearing behind Dr. Appleby's office.  
"There're your friends," I said quickly. Sure, I was changing the subject. As fast as I possibly could. "Why aren't you out with them?" Micah stared at me steadily, but I thought I saw a trace of uncertainty in his eyes.  
"I am following my own path. Short as it may be, it is _my _path, and I walk it with my head held high." Something about his words made me shiver, and I glanced away again. The cornfield was on my left. The stalks swayed eerily in the cool breeze--  
(wait)  
--a breeze that wasn't there. I shivered again, harder this time.  
"What's going on here, Micah?" The words were abrupt and unexpected, to both Micah's ears and my own. "Tell me truthfully. What's going on?" Another very long pause went by before the uncertainty crept from his face. He was an impassive porcelain wall once again. But then Micah surprised me. He leaned forward and I had the distinct urge to jerk away -- which I repressed.  
"Catch me," he whispered, and darted away into the cornfield.  
  
_You'll be strong  
You'll be rich in love and you will carry on  
But no, oh no  
No you won't be mine_  
  
I stood there for a moment, startled, before running after him.  
"Wait!" A stalk of corn whipped in the nonexistent wind and hit me in the face. I stumbled out of the way, pushing aside the corn.  
(shouldn't be out here uh-uh no)  
"Micah! Come on, don't do this! We shouldn't be out here!" I paused to get my breath. A glance around told me nothing; Micah was nowhere in sight. Damn, that boy could move fast. "Micah," I said again, more of a complaint this time, and continued running.  
"Over here," whispered a voice. I whirled to face it and just barely saw a black jacket disappearing past the stalks. I changed direction, following it.  
"Micah, this is stupid!" I stumbled over a piece of fallen corn and righted myself again, doing my best to keep up. "If anyone catches us out here--"  
"But _you're _supposed to catch _me," _murmured the voice, and faded into the cornfield. I glimpsed his black jacket again and urged myself to hurry.  
"Come on! I don't want to chase you!" And then, very suddenly, the movement in front of me stopped. I skidded to a halt and waited for the rustling of corn stalks, but there was none. "I've got you now," I said under my breath, grinning involuntarily. There _was _something fun about this, but I'd never admit it. Doing my best to stay silent, I crept forward towards where Micah had stopped. "Caught you!" I cried, and jumped on the shadow in front of me.  
"Not quite." The voice was behind me now, and I had just tackled night air. I stumbled hard, hard enough to hurt. Straightening, I was about to whirl and yell at Micah for his stupid game. That was when the hands began slipping around my waist.  
(oh crap not good)  
"Micah," I said slowly, not turning. Something was very wrong. "What are you doing?"  
"Caught you," he whispered, and pulled me back against him.  
(not good threat threat THREAT)  
"What are you doing?" I repeated quietly. Micah took my chin gently and turned it so I could see him.  
"Please," he said softly, eyes desperate again. Those eyes of his, the horrible _longing _in them, made something inside me twist painfully. "Please, do not judge me for what they think me to be. I do not want to be branded for what I had no choice in doing."  
"You're saying," I said slowly, relaxing just a little, "that you had no choice in doing this?" Micah shook his head, dark hair falling in his eyes.  
"No. This was my choice." He paused, then released my chin. I didn't look away; I continued staring at him over my shoulder.  
"Micah--" I began, and stopped. He stared at me steadily, the desperation in his eyes overwhelming.  
"We haven't much time," Micah whispered, and promptly pressed his lips to mine.  
  
_Take your straight line for a curve  
Make it stretch, the same old line  
Try to find if it was worth what you spent_  
  
I gasped in surprise, but didn't pull away.  
(desperation)  
It was so strong in that kiss, desperation -- like this was something he _had _to do. Micah drew back at last, and it took me a moment to realize that he was turning me around to face him.  
"He has a plan," he said in a soft voice, "as much as I may disagree with what He does, His plan is a good one, and it will work." Micah stopped then and glanced away, trying to hide the waver in his voice. "I am crucial to that plan. But it calls for something I am not willing to give."  
"What's that?" I asked quietly, hands straightening his collar idly. Micah stared at the ground.  
"I--" he began, but his voice was still trembling. He coughed and shook his head. "I cannot tell you." I watched him in silence for a moment. Micah just looked so alone and helpless, staring at the husk-littered earth as if it held some sort of answer. There was something wrong, much worse than I had thought at first. But I couldn't turn away, not with him looking like that.  
"Why did you kiss me?" It was a sudden change of conversation, but I think it was what we both needed. Micah glanced up at me, and I went on. "I sorta got the impression that -- well -- you had a thing for Ruth." He almost immediately looked disgusted.  
"Ruth?" he repeated dully. I nodded, fighting a smile.  
"Yeah. You're always hanging around her--"  
"No," Micah corrected, "_she's _always hanging around _me." _I laughed then. It was hard not to; he just seemed so offended that I even _thought _he might be interested in Ruth. But it helped. Micah laughed a little too -- it was only a short, breathless laugh, but a laugh all the same. Human.  
"I guess I was wrong," I snickered.  
"Greviously," Micah agreed, and a brief smile appeared on his pale face. I grinned too, but his dark eyes bored into me long enough that I felt serious again.  
"What are we doing, Micah?" I straightened his collar again, taking the focus from his black eyes. "What are we doing? Don't tell me you don't know, because you obviously do. Otherwise we wouldn't be out here." Micah watched me silently, and finally his hand crept up to brush aside a curl of my hair.  
"You're right. I know what we're doing." His hand slipped behind my neck, where it rested gently. "Let's just hope He doesn't."  
" 'He'?" I echoed confusedly, but Micah shook his head.  
"There is no time for questions," he murmured, moving closer. "Please, Deborah. Just trust me." He paused, then added, "Trust me. And kiss me." I stared at him in silence, blue eyes against black, and finally obeyed. In one fluent motion, I leaned forward and kissed him as gently as possible. I was almost afraid of hurting him; he was pale enough to be made of porcelain, and I was scared that he might shatter in my hands. But Micah didn't shatter; he put his hands on the sides of my head and returned the kiss eagerly.  
"He will not be pleased," Micah murmured against my lips, and I pulled back a little.  
"What?" I said softly, feeling a little dizzy. It was weird, almost as if his kiss had taken my breath away. He let out a small sigh, looking breathless himself, and twisted a curl of my hair around his finger.  
"He will not be pleased that I have strayed from His path." Micah uncoiled the lock of hair and watched it fall back to my shoulder. "But for now -- I am not worried about Him."  
(something's _unnatural _here)  
His dark eyes drifted back up to my face.  
"Please. We must hurry. They will be done soon." I opened my mouth to ask who, but Micah just pressed his lips against mine and I felt my breath slip away once again.  
  
_Why you're guilty for the way you're feeling now  
It's almost like being free  
And I know soon you will be  
Over the lies_  
  
My legs felt wobbly, and for a moment I was afraid I'd fall. Instead, Micah took my hands and pulled me slowly to the ground.  
"What are you--" I began, but he leaned me gently back against the soft earth.  
"Quiet," he whispered, and pressed his lips carefully to my forehead.  
(unnatural dark disturbing)  
"I don't--" I murmured, but Micah just stopped my words with his lips.  
(and _gentle)  
_"You have to be quiet," he said breathlessly, pausing to give me another soft kiss, "or they'll hear." I didn't ask who; he had told me to be quiet, so quiet I stayed. Besides, I was beginning to fear that I already knew.  
(the Children)  
"Do you understand?" Micah waited for my answer, leaning over me. I nodded in response. He closed his eyes for a moment. "Good." Then he gave my lips another gentle kiss, hands resting lightly on my waist. I had no idea what we were doing or why, but I certainly knew I liked it. Micah's fingers moved up to carress the sides of my face, then slipped to my hair.  
(mom and dad)  
It was another of those sudden, abstract thoughts. I didn't know where it came from, but it _did _remind me that they would be home. Soon.  
"Micah," I whispered, trying to be very quiet. "Micah, we have to stop." I paused, then added helplessly, "My parents." Micah stared at me, nose touching mine. His eyebrows twitched darkly.  
"They are _adults," _he said softly, then shook his head. "No, no. Please, you can't leave."  
"But I have to." Micah didn't respond; he lowered his lips to my neck and kissed it gently. I let my eyes drift closed.  
(parents)  
"I have to go home, Micah," I said quietly, but he didn't stop. And I wasn't sure if I wanted him to. "Micah," I repeated, trying to stay firm. "Please, I have to go." He paused, gave my neck another soft kiss, and pulled back.  
"If you must," he whispered, glancing away. I felt a stab of guilt.  
"We can talk again later." I slowly sat up, and Micah leaned back on his heels. "Sometime tomorrow, maybe?"  
"No!" It was nearly a yelp. I jumped in surprise, but he had already regained composure. "I mean--" Micah coughed as if the cry of despair hadn't come from him. "--not tomorrow. Tonight." I put a hand to his face and shook my head slowly.  
"I can't stay out here, Micah. I want to, I really do, but I can't." Micah closed his dark eyes.  
"Because of your parents," he muttered. I caught the bitterness in his voice, but let it pass.  
"Yes." I paused, then leaned closer. "I promise, I'll see you tomorrow." Micah opened his eyes a little, black eyebrows twitching.  
"You don't _understand," _he said tensely, and shook his head. "You can't see me tomorrow." He was right, I didn't understand. But I stroked his cheek lightly with my thumb.  
"I have to go, Micah," I whispered, and pressed my lips gently to his.  
  
The moment I did, it began to rain.  
  
_You'll be strong  
You'll be rich in love and you will carry on  
But no, oh no  
No you won't be mine_  
  
Micah jerked away roughly. I blinked in surprise, then leaned back.  
"What's wrong?" I asked, trying to hide the hurt in my voice. The abruptness of the mood swing had scared me, but it was the way he had pulled back that made me feel bad.  
"He knows," he whispered. Micah's black eyes were wide and somewhat frightened -- something I had never seen before. It was deeply unnerving.  
"Micah," I said slowly, "what's going on?" The rain was getting harder, and thunder rolled threateningly in the distance. Micah looked upwards fearfully at the ominous black clouds.  
"He knows," he murmured again, and it was clear he was trying to stay calm. "He knows, He's seen, He's going to punish me..." I grabbed him by the shoulders just as a loud crash of thunder shook the sky.  
"Micah, calm down and tell me what's wrong!" His eyes met mine, and for a split second there was nothing there but abstract fear. Then Micah's eyes clouded over and he took a deep, calming breath.  
"The One True Father," he said slowly, taking my hands in his, "our God, our Leader, our Salvation."  
(he who walks behind the rows)  
"He Who Walks Behind The Rows?" I asked softly. I didn't know how the name had come to mind, but it was right, because Micah nodded.  
"Yes." His black hair was plastered to his head, and strands were falling in his paler-than-usual face. "And this... is expressly... forbidden." Micah stroked my cheek briefly, his eyes darkening. I put my hand over his.  
"Micah," I said quietly, trying to swallow everything I had been told. "You're saying that this god of yours has forbidden you to show any emotion, and now he's found out and is going to punish you?" He nodded again.  
"Yes." He chuckled weakly, raising his voice to speak above the pouring rain. "Sounds crazy, huh?"  
"Yeah," I shouted back. "Pretty crazy." Micah gave me a helpless grin, then sobered.  
"But He does know. And He will punish--" His words were cut off by a loud crash of thunder. He winced visibly, and I felt immediately sorry for him. Sure, the story was hard to swallow, but it _was _rather odd how the rain had just started like that...  
"Micah," I said softly, and the rain was so loud that his name was lost in the sound. I rose my voice. "Micah, this god of yours... if he forbids you to love, he is no god at all." He stared back at me, an expression of helplessness on his pale face.  
"But He is _powerful," _he insisted, pushing his dark hair out of his eyes. "You don't understand what He could do, Deborah!" I shook my head in an effort to get the excess water out of my hair, then leaned forward.  
"All I'm saying is that _my _God embraces love, and _my _God punishes only those who make no attempt to love. Who put themselves before all others." I took the collar of his jacket in my hands, pulling him closer. "I'd also like to say that I'm soaking wet, but I'm staying out here because this is what you wanted me to do." Micah stared at me, black eyes doubtful.  
"But-- He _knows--"_ I leaned my forehead against his and watched him steadily.  
"Read my lips, Micah," I said softly. "I. Don't. Care." Without waiting for an answer, I pressed my lips to his in a gentle kiss. Vengeful god or not, Micah kissed back hard. The rain grew stronger.  
  
_Take yourself out to the curb  
Sit and wait  
A fool for life_  
  
A few minutes later, my clothes were plastered to my body and my hair was in limp, wet strands. I knew if I stayed out in the cornfield much longer, it would take forever to clean up and even longer to explain to my parents why I was soaking wet. I gave Micah one final, gentle kiss and pulled back.  
"I have to go now, Micah. Really." The rain was still steady, but we had learned to ignore it. Micah stared at me with pleading eyes.  
"Stay," he whispered, taking hold of my arm. "Please." I felt something inside me twist painfully, but I gave his hand a light kiss and pulled out of his grip.  
"I'm sorry." I got to my feet slowly, brushing the mud and corn silk off my soaked jeans. Micah followed.  
"Deborah," he said quickly, and grabbed my arm. "Please, if you must leave, then you must listen to me first." I stopped mid-stride and turned. Those desperate eyes of his held me there.  
"All right," I said quietly, giving in. "But hurry." Micah nodded, took a deep breath, and opened his mouth. Right then, I knew the reason he had pulled me into the cornfield.  
"People are going to die, Deborah. Lives will be lost, blood will be spilt." The words were as cold and shocking as the rain that was pouring down. I started to speak, but Micah held up a restraining hand and continued. "I will not lie to you; people _will _die. This is why you must leave."  
"But who's going to die?" I asked, cutting in before he could stop me. "And who's going to kill them--" But I knew the answer before I had even finished. Micah knew, too. He nodded slowly.  
"Yes, Deborah. You must leave as soon as possible. I cannot bear to put you through such horror, but if you do not leave Hemmingford, I will have no control over what you see." The horrible truth to his words -- and the desperation behind them -- was all the reason I needed. I swallowed thickly.  
"I'll tell my parents, Micah. But I'm not sure they'll believe me." He nodded and squeezed my hand comfortingly.  
"Make them believe, Deborah. Make them believe, or lose them forever." His words chilled my blood, but I squeezed back.  
"I'll try. Now--" I glanced up at the sky, which was still pouring bone-cold rain. "--I really have to go." Micah stroked my hand for a moment, watching the water run off it. Then he looked back up at me.  
"Goodbye, Deborah." Before I had the chance to respond, he had pressed his lips to mine.  
(desperation sorrow loss)  
Then Micah drew back, watched me for one long moment, and backed away into the corn. I reacted  
two seconds too late; I stumbled after him.  
"Wait!" I cried, wanting to tell him goodbye. But he was long gone.  
  
It was the last time I'd ever kiss Micah Balding.  
  
_It's almost like a disease  
And I know soon you will be  
Over the lies_  
  
That night, I went home and spilled to my parents what he'd told me. I told them everything -- conveniently omitting certain details -- including how dangerous the Gatlin children might be. As I'd thought, they didn't believe me-- at first. I was told to change into dryer clothes, go to bed, and we'd discuss it in the morning.  
  
The next morning, Dr. Appleby was found dead in his office, murdered with his own instruments.  
  
My parents packed us up in a hurry. We were out of Hemmingford before evening fell. I never saw Micah again, though God knows I looked for him. But my parents had forbidden me to see the "devil's child"-- besides, he wasn't anywhere I could see in town. We left Hemmingford and I never even told him goodbye.  
  
One year has passed since the "Gatlin Ressurection" -- or so I've heard it called -- and my parents still won't talk about it. Supposedly, there was an article about the aftermath of Hemmingford in the paper a few months ago, but I wasn't even allowed to read it. I had hoped for some news about Micah, and I was told that he was "in a better place now". I translated that to mean he's dead. And I can't even say I'm surprised. His beloved "god" had needed him for his "plan", and Micah seemed very eager to please. And yet, sometimes I wonder why he warned me. It was against his god's rules, it would result in punishment, and he did it anyway. I just wish that I could thank Micah for warning me -- and for showing me that when it seems someone is beyond hope, they can always redeem themselves. I'd like to think that _my _God forgave him for whatever he did, because I know I have. And no matter what anyone says about him, I know that in the cornfield that night, there was something else he had wanted to tell me: that he cared for me. Possibly even loved me. Because, after some thinking, I found out that there was also something I hadn't told Micah.  
  
I loved him, too.  
  
_You'll be strong  
You'll be rich in love and you will carry on  
But no, oh no  
No you won't be mine_


End file.
